


Moments in the Fall

by ZomBrie



Series: Ghosts of Sinner's Past [7]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gender Neutral, Gore, I'll add tags as we go, Mentions of Death, Named Reader, Other, Ouija Boards, Pining, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Violence, but first thing's first:, cursing, mediumship, pov rule break, we ain't about that [your name] bs around here, well rather it's your birth last name that's determined
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZomBrie/pseuds/ZomBrie
Summary: Snippets, occasions, mere peeks into the lives of two idiots who constantly dance around their feelings for one another[Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]





	1. An Iota of Respect

**Author's Note:**

> aka prompts/requests that are a lil too short for me to make them their own thing
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: some mentions of death and gore**

request "where murray earns a little of alucard's respect or when the reader is wounded, the bleeding wont stop and they use a nearby house on fire to heat their knife and cauterize it."

The battlefield belongs to the warriors; a playground that bears witness to a dance as old as man, it reeks of rotten flesh and congealed fat and curdled gore as a disgustingly sweet perfume that stains the very earth. The spectators _are_ the players, though no one ever genuinely leaves the terrain a champion- you either lose with the taste of blood in your teeth or your victory is infected by the weight of the lives that you’ve cut short. Because battle, be it hundreds of years ago or the here and now, is an immutable game, and gutless weak faint-hearts have no business acting as contenders.

This is a fact that Alucard knows intimately, something that he figured out a long time ago back when death was still a reality for him, and it’s the very reason that he looks upon you now with the utmost disdain.

You, a powerless, feeble human; you, the residential “medium”; you, who wears the familiarity of a future lost to him. A “monster hunter” is what everyone calls you, yet here he stands as a jury to your incompetence because _you don’t belong here._

Bleeding out from a hunk of shrapnel lodged in your side. Crumpled on the floor, skin clammy, and whimpering like an injured dog.

 _Pathetic_ , he thinks to himself before he turns away. Maybe he’ll radio in some assistance for you- if he can even be bothered to “remember” after dealing with the target because who will think twice of you dying out on the field anyways? Certainly not him. And certainly not sir Integra. His boots meet the ground a mere pace or two from you before you pitifully whine his name.

“M-mister Alucard, I n-need your help.”

Oh… of all of the languages he’s fluent and yet none of them can properly articulate how much he hates you.

He takes another step forward with the full intent of ignoring your plea because the battlefield is no place for the meek, and if it’s meant to claim you as yet another victim then so be it because, again, _you do not belong here._ But then the sound of shredding and snapping cotton fibers grazes his ears and he promptly stops in his path.

When he turns to see what you’re doing he immediately notices a portion of your shirt is missing- the portion that’s dyed red, and how the scrap of fabric clutched in your left grip matches in color and material. He watches on as you drape the piece of your shoulder, pop open the pouch on your hip, and retract a small, rectangular object made from metal from within. _A lighter._

“I need to… to stop the bleeding,” you moan between grit teeth, “and I d-don’t have the… christ- I can’t stitch it up!”

Then your blood encrusted fingers wrap around the knife’s hilt strapped on to your thigh and you wrench it from its sheath.

“So I’m- ugh, I’m asking you to remove the shrapnel for me. I’d do it myself but-” you flip open the lid of the lighter “-I g-gotta cauterize the wound, and I can’t do both.”

 _Because_ , he repeats yet again within the confines of his head, _you. do. not. **BELONG. HERE.**_ Except… you do. It’s in the harsh, deep lines that wrecks the skin of your brow, the way your lips peel so far back over your teeth that it nearly rips your cheeks open. It’s an expression that he knows, that he remembers dressing in back when he was made of flesh and blood. The look of a warrior who’s defying death with a sneer. The plumes of rasping, gasping breath being wrenched from your aching lungs aren’t the whimpers of defeat because before his very eyes you’re carving your foothold on the battlefield.

“If nothing else… heh, if nothing else, this is gonna hurt like a mo-mother fucker and you’ll be part of that.” You say with the faintest hint of a smile, not for a lack of trying either. You’re honestly attempting to make light of the situation.

Maybe, Alucard considers as you thumb at the lighter’s spinning switch, you’ve had a place here already.

His feet move of their own accord until he’s standing before you and his fingers curl around the jagged edges of the shrapnel, either actions his brain isn’t entirely aware of, not even when he’s this close to _you_.

The revenant. The living reminder. Their descendant.

“Try not to faint from this.”

Before you bite down around the shred of fabric, you flash him a quick- albeit weak- grin and promise him nothing.

What follows are muffled, agonized shrieks and the odor of cooking pork.


	2. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request “alucard just looking at you lovingly with his eyes, even though he knows it’s wrong.”
> 
>  
> 
> important note: back on my bullshit with that pov rule breakin and pronoun game havin ass.

There are moments when your smile wrenches a memory from deep within Alucard’s chest, of a time when he first awoke to human ingenuity plunging headlong into the industrial realm; of a time when he pried his coffin open for the very first time in centuries and opened himself up to the marvels of a modern world… and his heart to someone who would not receive it.

However, these occasions, these instances when the past tries to bleed into the present have grown more and more isolated as of late. Just last week he caught himself observing you cycling through your yoga routine and his mind lingered there- he didn’t think of any specters, he didn’t compare you to anyone else. It was just _you_ in that moment, and it’s mostly only been you that he’s seen.

It’s a recent development that has yet to offend him.

Because before he was entirely _too alert_ by your presence, too suspicious and distrustful and wary every time he heard an exhale from across the manor. But now? Now the connotations have shifted along with his perspective of you.

Maybe not for the better… but it is different.

Take right now for instance, where he bears witness to a moment of camaraderie between you and his pupil; a weathered spirit board lies on the floor with the two of you hovering over it, fingertips barely fluttering over the surface of the wooden planchette. Seras giggles behind puckered lips and puffy cheeks in a failed attempt to not offend you.

“Be honest, Murray. Do these things actually work?” She asks.

You glance at her through your eyelashes with a crooked grin, and the sight nearly drops his mind back into the past. _Nearly._

“For most people it depends.”

“And what about you?”

“Heh.. I don’t need parlor tricks to talk to the dead,” the smile on your lips widens a fraction and faintly looks smug.

And that statement anchors him, ties a tether around his mangled psyche and leads it back to the here and now. You possess an ability that **they** didn’t, though whether your mediumship has roots in **them** he doesn’t know for sure, but regardless your communicating with shadows of the dearly departed sets you apart from **them**. Reminds him that you’re your own person totally separate from his past.

You, Murray, young and human and oh so painfully American, are not of the past. You are of the present, playing with a ouija board with Seras as a means to kill boredom.

And… perhaps…

Alucard’s heart lurches once.

… you will be in the future…

His future…

_Maybe you’ll be a part of his future._

His lips immediately curl into a vicious snarl. No, he will _**not**_ make that same mistake twice.

He turns away from the scene, resolute and destroying that little echo of humanity and banishing the memory of a beating heart.

And he entirely misses the unguarded, curious glint in your eyes as you watch him vanish into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/u: the ol count is an eldritch bundle of emotions and he doesn't know how to fuckin process them. hashtag ten whole ass big moods. if you liked this then please leave some kudos and comments- after all teamwork makes the dreamwork and y'all engaging with writing/authors is hella important; otherwise thank you so much for taking the time to read this and i'll see you gorgeous people on the next piece <3


	3. Inhuman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is no ghost. no spirit could ever be so… corrupt. so _inhuman_."
> 
> **Warning: body horror; descriptions of a panic attack**

Eyes. So many eyes. More than the standard, normal two. Tens? Hundreds? Certainly not thousands. Some small. Others big, way too big, way too round, about the size of an adult’s palm. They’re red too, every single one of them, with blood vessels popping and bleeding into the irises; pupils are thin, sharp. Just like His. Illuminating in the twitchy black. _Just like His._ Unblinking, entirely transfixed on one target: You. A curtain of scarlet eyes and they’re all staring at you.

There’s a dark, twisty mass of shadows mere inches from you- from your face- and there are patches of space, where the eyes don’t reach and the inky blackness rolls and undulates, that you can catch glimpses of porcelain. Rounded along the top, coming together to meet at a fine, jagged point. Teeth. You’re seeing teeth. Fangs glistening in a thin sheen of spittle, peaking out in random spots that have no business carrying them. You hear screaming. It’s not yours.

From the bulk of the mass comes a thin tendril and it stretches out to meet you; when it grazes your skin you can feel its cool and clammy touch separate, spread into four distinct shapes cupping around your ear with a fifth on your cheek.

What little your mind can process- **eyes, shadow, teeth, black black red white black** \- it’s telling you that those are fingers on you. That this **thing** has a hand and it’s _touching_ you.

“Did they hurt you?” you hear someone ask, though from who or where you don’t know. Your brain doesn’t want to stray from the horror before you. This is no ghost. No spirit could ever be so… corrupt. So _inhuman_.

“Revenant, did they hurt you?”

You’ve been called that before, you know this you remember this and your head supplies you with a name. But where is He?

Something… shifts in the black mass, though it’s difficult to see what, but when the shadows peal back and an all too familiar face emerges from the depths, your heart flutters rapidly- uncomfortably in your chest until it literally stops. Because this thing that’s in front of you, this amalgamation of body parts and nightmares, the face that’s looking back at you is none other than Alucard.

“It doesn’t appear so… seems I reached you just in time.”

You can’t breathe.

Your heart isn’t beating- you can’t breathe- there’s an eye in the middle of His forehead and your mouth feels parched- you’re dry swallowing- heaving- a row of sharp teeth at the base of His neck- you feel cold- your lungs hurt- mind is rushing and freaking and rushing some more- you need to calm down but you can’t cause too many eyes and too much teeth and screaming and He’s here- He’s _it_ \- and you. can’t. breathe.

The lack of oxygen pulls you under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/u: so this is actually a piece that's been up on my tumbles for quite awhile now, but i never posted it on ao3 cause it didn't seem long enough to warrant a single piece? it's here now, though. hope y'all enjoy my very first attempt at depicting panic attacks and body horror! the follow up piece will be posted shortly.


	4. Exposure Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “… this pseudo exposure therapy meant to suture the scabbed rift that severs the burgeoning bond between you and Him. Because you weren’t the only one afflicted **that day** …”
> 
> **Warning: body horror; mentions of a developing panic attack**

In the dark space behind closed eyes is where you dwell, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths through your nose until your lungs expand to max capacity, and then gradually pushing them back out through pursed lips. It’s an exercise in composure, done in the hopes of barring your heart from its incessant lofty flutters and reigning in your mind before it runs off with itself- and oh how it wants to run.

As stubborn as the skull it occupies and twice as thick, your brain is relentless in its pursuit of diving headfirst into the depths of your psyche where a veil of writhing black shadows and glistening fangs patiently wait for a mere glimpse, the smallest window of opportunity to present itself so the trauma can swallow your anxiety whole and gnaw and chew until you’re nothing but a raw, mangled mess left for an endless audience of red eyes.

But in this moment, contained within the dark walls of sir Integra’s study with said employer standing in as something of a mediator, you can’t allow your abysmal memories and hellish imaginations to roam amok. You _need_ to do this.

So you roll your shoulders back and lift your chin with eyes sealed shut still; when next your vision clears you want Alucard to be the first thing you see. “Okay, I think I’m ready.”

“’You think?’” A familiar baritone questions, tone clipped and pronunciation short. Something in your gut tells you that He’s just as perturbed as you right now.

Which brings to mind the precise reason why you’re enduring this psychological torture- this pseudo exposure therapy meant to suture the scabbed rift that severs the burgeoning bond between you and Him. Because you weren’t the only one afflicted **that day** , when a squadron of very human and very panicky soldiers mistook you for a shambling corpse and in your moment of hesitation- they weren’t monsters, after all- this unit of bullet proof vests and combat rifles perceived you a threat. A barrage of deadly, metallic projectiles fired your way, poised to shred your body into grisly confetti were it not for Alucard and His impeccable timing. That was lucky for you. However, the method of which He saved your skin rained pure hell on your simple mortal understanding.

“Are you absolutely sure, Murray?” You hear sir Integra ask, it being the first she deems her intervention appropriate since opening her office door to you tonight. “You _must_ be certain that you’re truly ready.”

_Because this isn’t just for your sake_ , is the unspoken line and you don’t dare to outwardly acknowledge it. The air in the room is already volatile enough, there’s no need to strike a match by dragging His vulnerability further into the light when He’s allowing you this favor. After all, He doesn’t have to forgive you or your rejection.

“I understand,” you say with a quiet voice that’s quickly succeeded by a single firm nod, “and I’m ready.”

What follows next is a moment of silence, a heavy one, the tension pulled taut like an elastic band ready to sever and snap. But when the moment trickles into two, then three, and the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner of the study becomes too loud, it’s only now that you have clarity of the situation.

Alucard isn’t ready.

You’ve seen this side of Him before; He’s revealed Himself to you once in all of His abominable glory, and though it was under less than favorable conditions He still posed no threat to you then, and yet you… you couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t take it. And when you fully recovered from that episode, cleared to go out on missions and be a productive Hellsing employee again, you went back on your bullshit and withdrew from Him once more- entirely far too reminiscent of when you first worked together.

The intent was to allow your mental health to sort of grow metaphorical callouses, become accustomed and then desensitized to the fact that you came face to face with the physical embodiment of His monstrous and so very negative energy- that a large group of _people_ were killed because of your incompetence. Be jaded enough so that you wouldn’t be reduced to a puddle of anxiety and panic attacks whenever He came near.

But you never conveyed any of this to Him.

An educated guess on your end, He likely interpreted your deliberate absence as you shunning Him; you can accept Him when He’s subdued and complacent and obediently following the orders of His master, but underneath the pretty facade? When His emotions overwhelm Him and all of His terrible power outgrows His vessel and literally tears Him asunder? That you can’t accept. Again, it’s all your own unconfirmed speculation, but from His perspective you rejected the real Him.

And by scorning Him **you had hurt Alucard** , and that’s why He’s apprehensive to reveal this part of Himself again.

And truth be told you did reject Him, as unintentional as it was, and you should’ve found a way to tell Him that you were working past this before the silence gave an answer _for_ you. But you didn’t and now you’re dealing with the consequence.

You have one shot at this so don’t fuck it up or you’ll lose Him forever.

Hands curl into fists until the nails dig into the meat of your palms, you feel your spine straighten out and harden and both of your eyes peel open to the sight of fear.

Alucard’s fear, complete with a furrowed brow and rigid frown and red eyes scanning the scene before Him, and judging by the way His shoulders are glued to His chair you note that He’s bracing Himself.

There’s an ache in your sternum.

You look Him in the eye and tell Him that you’re ready, and if He notices the tension of the skin around your knuckles then He doesn’t say anything.

His energy shifts.

You draw a full breath into your lungs.

The air crackles.

You feel queezy.

His body splits open like a plastic bag melting from fire.

____________________________________

_Breathe_.

Repeat this mantra.

Inhale through your nose, _one, two, three_ ; exhale through your mouth, _five, six, seven_.

A whirlwind of _noise_ entangles all around you, of screechy scurrying vermin and disembodied howling and inhuman whining; hundreds of voices topple over each other in a cacophony of horror and discord, all vying for your recognition yet never enough to make your ear drums bleed. Still you feel your own body trying to rob you of oxygen.

_Look for Him, find Him. Ground yourself. You’re in no danger here._

**No.**

Your eyes widen with the dawning realization in your head.

No, you’re not seeking Him out. You match the attention of a particularly large eye towards your right side and you know that He’s here. The coils of rolling impenetrable shadows, the rows upon rows of jagged teeth snapping and snarling at the air, the congregation of numerous red eyes- unblinking, ever searching- solely focused on your every move… is Him. This assembly of chaotic entropy is Alucard- no matter how much your human psyche tries to, you **cannot** separate the monster from the man.

Your chin quivers; _and you either accept all of Him, everything of who and/or what He is, or nothing at all and you forgo the bond between you two._

Swallowing around a hard knot lodged in the middle of your throat, willing yourself to just fucking breathe despite the fact that your skin is prickling with the tell tale signs of a mounting panic attack, you gently reach out into the darkness with an open palm until your fingertips breach a smoky, far too cold plume.

To your surprise, it solidifies into cool flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/u: i said this on the tumbles but like damn... i still feel so freakin proud of this piece. feels like somethin that no one has tried before in terms of alucard and reader-insert fic. but that's probably just my arrogance speaking, haha! please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, gotta support content creators and all that, and all y'all are fuckin valid and i love you


	5. Actual Dialogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it’s the very first time the two of you share a dialogue where he doesn’t outwardly threaten your life; it may not be the most enlightening but it seems you’re finally getting somewhere with the vampire in red.

“Are you afraid of death, mister Alucard?” You ask with a quiet voice. “More specifically, of dying?”

The man in question lets your enquiry drift in the space between you two, but there’s no cumbersome tension or boiling anger here aiming to trawl the collective mood down. Rather it seems that His silence is born out of consideration, interest, as if He’s mulling over just exactly how He feels about the prospect of His own passing.

In the meantime you drop yourself into a crouch, your hands pawing at the sides of the bag until you feel the cool plastic of the zipper under your fingertips. A manner of seconds, the white polyester teeth peel back wide enough for you to reach inside, and when your touch meets the desired slab of wood you entrap a corner within your grip and hoist the board out.

“Death is an inevitability for all things organic, it’s not question of ‘if’ but rather ‘when’.” He says.

You glance at His profile haunting the corner of your eye before you gently settle the board down among the blades of the lush, green grass. “So in other words… no?”

“In other words no.”

A short hum bubbles in the back of your throat as an acknowledgment of Alucard’s answer, and no the irony of asking an undead being if He fears dying- while fenced in by a smattering of broken tombstones all wielding the name _“Hellsing”_ on a clear summer night- is not lost on you.

“And what of you, revenant?”

You trace the board’s patchy varnish with your eyes, and the chipped paint of the “hello” and “goodbye” etched into the bottom left and right corners respectively with your nails. You’re fond of this old spirit board, it reminds you of your late grandfather and the numerous Halloweens and sleepovers spent hovering over it. Papa’s passing was your very first encounter with death, but it was a natural, painless event that made it seem like he merely slipped into an afternoon nap. Perhaps that had served as an influence over your perception of mortality.

“Nah, not really,” you pause for a second, “I mean I’m kinda worried about what’ll happen to my soul after I die- ya know, am I gonna have unfinished business and will that trap me somewhere? But I’m not scared of the actual dying part.”

“Most humans are.”

“Yeah, well most humans aren’t actual ghostbusters either.”

There’s a brief lull in the conversation- a fact that will drive away any hope of you snoozing later because holy shit you’re having an actual _conversation with Alucard?!_ \- before He pipes up with another remark, and you can practically hear the sneer in His voice. “Are you? Because I don’t recall them using a toy to deal with ghosts.”

“Then you’re just not remembering right. Besides, I’m using this ‘toy’ as a trigger object.” You bite back with a single huff. “That’s medium talk by the way for-”

“-for bullshit.”

Oh if looks could kill, as they say. Alucard is not impressed nor intimidated by the ferocious gutters in the skin of your furrowed brow or the savage downturn of your mouth, He simply maintains that familiar unpleasant grin as you try your damnedest to burn an impression of your glare into the side of His skull.

“You know you can go back inside the manor, right? It’s not as if I asked you to join me!”

“And miss another one of your pathetic attempts at proving that you’re not full of shit? Never.”

Emotionally you resemble a geyser, nearly exploding from the mouth with a choir of colorful expletives vulgar enough to make a sailor blush, and demands to know who raised Him and why they deemed it appropriate to procreate and curse the world with His existence. In fact you manage a single _“fuck y-”_ before a gentle vibration rumbles against the side of your thigh. It’s your phone, and in the business of man-eater monster hunting one has to be ready to heed the call to arms at any moment’s notice, so instead of unleashing your torrent of wrath upon Alucard you swallow it down like a horse-pill, rip your phone out of your pocket, unlock your screen, and read the text that awaits you.

**[Text from: The Fuzz (Seras)]**

**[“Just got an assignment from sir Integra. Wheels up in an hour.”]**

Back in to the pocket of your shorts does the cellular device go. The spirit board finds a home within your backpack as well, and once the bag’s straps are upon your shoulders you stand at your full height and shake the prickly tingles from your calves.

Once again you level the vampire with a vicious stink-eye, “after I’m done with this assignment-” you jab a pointer finger His way “-we’re gonna have a good ol fashioned seance. You and me. And I’m gonna make you eat your words, you fedora wearin’ asshole.”

It’s now that Alucard gives you His full attention, turning to you with an ever growing grin and a soft- but no less derisive- chuckle rolling from the pit of His large chest; His teeth glimmer in the moonlight, and you don’t ignore this.

“Looking forward to it, Murray.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/u: i.. can't believe i didn't post this earlier? i swore i did??? but anyways, i'm gonna try to hop back on the writing train and get some new works out soon cause i ain't anywhere near done with these two emotionally constipated boobs. got a series of prompts/themes i’ve created where i cover very specific yet easy to miss hurdles you and the ol count overcome before we get to some heavy shit, and this one’s about the two of you actually managing to have a “decent” conversation. there’s another obstacle that’s been beaten in this but i’ll let y’all figure that one out yourselves. don’t forget to give this some kudos and leave some feedback if ya liked it! and hey, thanks for taking the time to read it <3 also also, to the wonderful people who have been leaving comments: fucking thank you guys so goddamn much, y'all genuinely keep me going in terms of writing


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